


portrait of the artist as a middle-aged destroyer

by seventhswan



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (2014), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Families of Choice, Gen, Interspecies Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 06:42:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2140986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seventhswan/pseuds/seventhswan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a memorable fight in an art gallery on a tiny planet apparently held up mostly by glitter and good wishes, Drax takes up painting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	portrait of the artist as a middle-aged destroyer

**Author's Note:**

> Groot is referred to with ‘he’/’his’ pronouns in here because I felt personally like this was the pronoun which would ‘disappear’ into the text most completely.
> 
> Possible trigger warning: this story mentions canonically dead minor characters.

Andrellia is a strange and beautiful place. The citizens are every color of the rainbow, and they speak in surprisingly low, soothing voices, darting excited glances at the Guardians from under heavy eyelashes. Drax is surprised the stories of the team’s exploits have travelled as far as here, a tiny planet on the outer fringe of this particular star system.

“It sorta reminds me of Earth,” Peter says contemplatively, when a tiny winged Andrellian girl manning a market stall hands him a shining apple. She giggles at his answering wink, one small hand covering her mouth. “If everything turned into a Saturday morning cartoon about Tinkerbell and her fuzzy-wuzzy forest friends.”

He takes a lusty bite of the apple and looks round at the rest of the team like he’s expecting a laugh, but gets only blank eyes in return.

“Come _on_ , you guys!” he says through his mouthful. He swallows. “Tinkerbell! Tiny little golden fairy, covered in glitter?”

Drax squints at him.

“Glitter?” he repeats. Gamora shrugs one green shoulder, very slightly. Peter groans and staggers like he’s been shot.

“I’m _wasted_ on you philistines,” he moans theatrically.

His dismay only lasts long enough for him to spot something called a hotdog stand.

|

They’re only supposed to be on Andrellia long enough to pick up a package for delivery, but Peter is so taken by it that they spend an entire afternoon there. They lose Gamora, Groot and Rocket to a huge public library filled with squashy chairs – Gamora and Groot so they can read, and Rocket so he can nap – so Drax spends a few hours wandering around with Peter, going into stores. Peter buys a thing called a camera, which nearly sends him into orbit with excitement.

"My grandfather used to have one just like this!" he tells Drax excitedly, pulling it out and pressing various buttons. It makes strange whirring sounds. It is big and bulky and ugly, with one big eye, but Drax doesn’t say so. Peter seems pleased, and the Andrellian sun is low in the sky. Drax’s ice cream is dripping onto his hand. An Andrellian lady floats past under a parasol made of dandelion seeds and a group of Andrellian children tussle in the grass nearby, shrieking in the cool air.

|

There’s a black market price on all their heads, so Drax can honestly say he isn’t surprised when the thugs show up. It’s an _actual_ surprise when it turns out that they have no interest in the Guardians at all, but instead have plans to enslave all the gentle Andrellians. That’s a new one.

“First vacation I’ve had in twenty years,” Peter mutters murderously, and ducks behind a huge glass case.

Drax has never been to an art gallery before, but he already knows it’s a bad place to have a fight. It’s enclosed, for one thing, and full of unarmed civilians for another.

“Teach us to abuse free museum public bathrooms,” Peter sighs when Drax points this out, and fires a controlled beam at the closest bounty hunter.

Drax can, quite frankly, see a faster way to do this. From the wall he plucks a heavy rectangular thing, edged in some kind of dense wood, and starts to aim it at the enemy’s head.

“No! Don’t!” Peter squawks unexpectedly, and Drax freezes, surprised.

“You don’t do that with art!” Peter continues. He has one eye on a tiny, beautiful Andrellian woman sobbing golden tears in a corner, wailing about _my people’s history and culture and dreams, reduced to rubble!_

Drax blinks at Peter, and very slowly lowers the heavy thing – a _canvas_ , he’ll later understand – to the ground.

He and Peter struggle along for a few more minutes, so hampered by trying not to accidentally hit any bystanders or any art that it's more like one of Gamora's fiendishly difficult training exercises than something actually taking place in the field. The situation only comes under better control when Rocket, Gamora and Groot run onto the scene, providing enough backup to let Peter and Drax set up an evacuation. As Drax deadlifts a sobbing Andrellian man over the museum's threshold, he reflects that he is always glad to see his friends, and this time is no different.

|

In the end, Drax is given the painting he saved as thanks, in an elaborate ceremony at city hall. Peter and Gamora have been working with him on how to behave appropriately amongst species which persist in using the cultural constructs of politeness and white lies, so he forces a smile in response. Privately, he wonders what he is expected to do with an enormous, heavy thing which serves no discernable purpose.

Peter, on the other hand, is awarded an incredibly ornate, tiered golden tiara. His accepting smile doesn’t actually look forced at all. He even bends on one knee to be crowned. He does, however, grumble a _tiny_ bit when Gamora’s gift turns out to be some sort of amazing rainbow death-ray gun.

“For the Amazonian warrior goddess!” the Andrellian mayor breathes, clearly in awe. She looks entirely beside herself – close to swooning – at Gamora’s pleased expression.

“It is to your liking, goddess?” the mayor asks tremulously as Gamora hefts the gun and tries out the grip. The mayor nearly trips over her full-length vermillion ceremonial robe in anticipation.

“It is indeed,” Gamora grins, and Peter rolls his eyes.

|

Peter hangs the heavy thing up on the wall in the main mess quarters of the ship, where they spend virtually all their time.

“That straight, buddy?” he asks Groot over his shoulder.

“I am Groot,” Groot affirms.

Peter beams, pleased, and climbs down again. He regards the thing with his hands on his hips, seemingly satisfied.

“Why would you put that up there?” Drax asks Peter. It’s been bothering him fiercely, the secret of this useless thing. Why Peter wanted to protect it, why Groot is standing transfixed in front of it, swaying slightly and emitting a very faint, happy hum.

Peter just looks at him.

“What do you mean?” he asks. He seems genuinely perplexed.

“What is the point of this object?” Drax asks, indicating it with a disgruntled hand. “It does nothing! Its great mass may even make the ship less aerodynamic.”

Peter laughs a bright, short laugh like it’s been shocked out of him.

“Look, man,” he says, “I think we passed the stage of worrying about our aerodynamics a verrrry long time ago. Rocket is one step from being a certified hoarder at this point, and Groot isn’t much better.”

“Groot,” Groot says sadly, stopping his pleased swaying and looking abashed. Peter gives him a conciliatory pat on the elbow.

“I just don’t understand this,” Drax admits finally. He means to sound righteously frustrated, but it sounds more like a child’s whine, to his shame. Peter squints at him.

“Dude, what’s there to understand? It’s art. You know, a picture. You know what a picture is, right?”

Drax snorts. “Of course I understand photography,” he says. “I understand photographs in medical textbooks, encyclopaedias, I understand maps. I just don’t understand this thing – it has no purpose.”

Peter smiles a little, bouncing on his toes.

“Sure it does!” he says cheerily. “Look at it – doesn’t it make you feel something?”

Drax tries. The thing shows what looks like a very scientifically inaccurate starscape in the top third – it includes a mermaid drawn in swirly light patterns, and other ridiculous things which do not exist – and then turns slowly into a blue sky. 

Under the blue sky, in the final third, is what looks like the park he and Peter walked through, though it doesn’t look the way the park does now, with the ice cream sellers and the Andrellian children in their strange clothes. The Andrellians shown here in the sunshine are in older dress, nothing they saw on their visit. 

Drax follows along the final third and sees that it moves from sunshine into twilight, the park slowly becoming less populated. In the sunshine there are dogs, and children, and couples holding hands. In the final, darkest phase of the twilight there is simply a very old Andrellian sitting on a bench, holding the hand of a very young one. Both are smiling. Possibly they are supposed to be related. There is no way of knowing if any of these beings even really existed.

“I am Groot,” Groot says encouragingly.

“I don’t understand,” Drax admits again. Peter smiles patiently.

“Listen, it’s like dancing,” he says. “It makes you feel happy. It doesn’t have to have a purpose. It’s art.”

“I understand,” Drax lies.

|

Drax finds himself drawn to the – the _art_ \- in the mess quarters repeatedly over the following days. Groot is often there, tending to the collection of potted plants he has been building up during their adventures. Of course, where Groot is, Rocket is not far behind.

“Gonna get a crick in your neck,” Rocket warns him when he glances up from whatever he’s assembling to see Drax still sat in front of the art, staring at it. Drax ignores him.

The art doesn’t even change. It shows Drax the same pointless thing, all the time.

|

Somehow word of Drax’s noble painting-saving gets out, and the next three diplomatic gifts he receives are art related. At Drax’s expression on receiving the third – an enormous, beautifully embroidered painter’s smock – Peter wheezes with laughter so hard he has to sit down.

Drax now owns an easel, a palette and a huge chest of paints which smell odd. And, as of today –

“A dress!” Rocket cackles delightedly, rolling all over the floor of the ship.

“I fear the universe is laughing at me,” Drax laments. Gamora hides her smile in her hair.

|

It’s an unforgivable rudeness where Drax is from to let a gift go to waste, so Drax requests that Gamora show him how this painting thing works. He is officially no longer speaking to Peter OR Rocket.

“Gladly, Drax,” Gamora says. She even gracefully leaves him alone once it has all been set up. Unfortunately, he very quickly finds that he wishes she’d stayed. He has no idea what he’s supposed to do now.

“Peter said that art is about being happy,” Drax tells Groot, who is once again tenderly looking after his plants. The team often finds Groot to be a very useful sounding board in times of confusion or strife, so Drax supposes it's worth a try.

“I am Groot,” Groot agrees. When Drax turns to look at him, his huge dark eyes are crinkled in simple joy – one of his buds has just begun to split into a brilliant flower. Drax considers him for a moment.

“Okay,” he says, and puts just the very tip of his brush to the canvas. It's a start.

|

The painting of Groot looking at his flower takes Drax a week, and when it is finished, it is utterly terrible.

“It doesn’t look anything like him at all!” Drax rages, yanking his smock over his head. Peter, Gamora and Rocket are studying the canvas from a few feet away, respectfully silent. Groot, on the other hand, comes right up to it, peering curiously.

“Groot!” he says eventually, pointing at it. He then turns to his plants and points at his little budding favorite, saying joyously, “I am Groot!”

He rushes over and picks the plant pot up, taking it to the canvas as though he is showing the painting to the plant.

“Groot! I am Groot!” he explains happily, before turning round and waving his branches excitedly at Drax. The team is smiling.

All of a sudden, Drax understands completely. Art is about being happy.

|

With a little help and modification from Rocket, Peter gets the Andrellian camera working. He begins to snap photographs endlessly – capturing the ship’s frequent dance parties, Gamora training with her weapons, Rocket sleeping curled on Groot’s shoulder. He plasters them all over the walls of the mess, in an ever expanding halo around Drax’s Andrellian art and the painting of Groot.

Drax finds himself laughing at the curious, quiet moments Peter captures. It's somehow sad to him, though, that the only photographs they have are of who is here now. He wishes there was a camera which could photograph those they have lost.

|

Drax understands that there is more to art than happiness when he sees Gamora standing in the mess in the middle of the night, her slim back barely illuminated by one of Groot’s plants' heatlamps. She doesn’t start, even though Drax has basically sneaked up on her. Gamora is a warrior.

She’s crying into one hand, her fingers curled loosely over her nose. In front of her on the wall - next to a bright rendering of Drax’s wife when she was young - hangs Drax’s latest painting. It’s an impressionistic swirl of bright blue, circuitry and wires, reaching towards a wall of jade green.

Without looking at him, Gamora curls slowly, almost imperceptibly, into Drax’s side.

|

It's the haul of the century - after foiling another one of those ridiculous, nefarious galaxy-domination plans (why would you even _want to_ , is what always confuses Drax. Having a universe would be so much _work_ ), the crew staggers back onto the Milano so laden down with tributes and treasures that they can barely walk.

Drax is so tired it hurts to blink. There's a massive gash in his shoulder that Gamora stitched in the field and then a medical warlock undid and restitched, despite Drax's protestations that Gamora's work was more than sufficient. He needs to lie down for - for a very very long time.

"Team photo!" Peter protests strongly, even though he's so battle-worn it comes out slurred.

Everyone slumps obediently down in the mess quarters with their treasures, and Peter sets the camera on the timer. Surrounded by gold, under the gallery of the people they love and remember - Peter's mother, Drax's wife and daughters, Nebula, the scenes from Groot and Rocket's earliest memories - the Guardians of the Galaxy shine, exhausted and triumphant.


End file.
